I am absolutely uncertain of the reasons behind this phenomenon. It may be selective amnesia, a defense mechanism, or pathetically, it may occur because of the sheer desperation to believe that at some point you actually did care about me. Regardless of the reasons for it, whenever you deign to bless me with a text message, I forget about all of the bad times. Not as if I skim over them, or pick and choose the least of the bad. No. My brain and I hold a split second meeting in which we decide that at no moment over the past almost two years did you ever once treat us like complete and utter shit. There is no recollection what so ever. Instead, upon receiving the standard “hey” or, our personal favorite, “hey lady” there is nothing my brain and I do but relive every single second of the good times. The hotel rooms with my best friend and your best friends, being drunk and bored but still having the best laughs. The few occasions where you took me out somewhere. Seeing Sucker Punch and both of us on this weird sexual adrenaline rush at seeing such hot girls kicking ass. The quiet moments by ourselves where you actually let me into your brain and your heart and told me things that you had never told anyone. Being held in your arms, so safe and surrounded and warm. The gun range in the middle of summer. Do you remember? It was really hot and the range isn’t ventilated very well so it was even more sticky and humid inside than out. I had just taken my turn with Buster, your semi automatic, and you were reloading the bullets for your round. I looked up at you because you were speaking but with the earmuffs on, I couldn’t really understand what you were saying. Your face was covered in sweat. I remember feeling bad because you get hot so easily and you didn’t even want to go to the range that day but caved because I said I needed to get ready for the Zombie apocalypse. I noticed the sweat and wiped it off your forehead for you; you leaned in and kissed me.
The sex. I always remember the sex. Not that it was great, even though it was, but because no matter how adventurous you wanted to be, you always made sure that I felt every ounce of pleasure possible. I remember the fact that your friends liked me and hated your ex. That 2-hour long talk you, White Boy, and I had sitting on your couches. The one where both of you, so broken and jaded, finally opened up to me. Those texts incite all these happy memories so rapidly that it leaves me dizzy and excited enough to believe that maybe, God maybe, this time it will be different. This time you will tell me that you love me. You never do though. You carry on the conversation for a few more texts and then disappear for another month or so. Why do you do that? Why do you come back so sporadically and vanish so fast? There was a time when you would text me nonstop from the time you woke up until the time you went to bed. There were times when you wouldn’t let me off the phone so I would sit there with an idiot smile on my face, so happy and warm bellied, listening to you breath because it was 3 in the morning and you fell asleep on the phone.
At this point, it makes no sense that you even still feel the need to contact me. Is it to make yourself feel better? Do you like knowing that no matter what I will answer you? Do you sit back and think, “lets see if this girl still lives her life for me”? Let me save you the trouble of thinking that much. Yes I will always answer you. I still care about you. I still want to be with you. Yes, God, I am still waiting for the moment when you realize that there is no reason in this galaxy why you shouldn’t want to take comfort in the blanket of my care, why you shouldn’t want to breath in the warmth of all this love I have for you. I am still waiting for you to realize that you have been so fucking stupid not to do everything in your power to make sure this, “bite sized” awesome, funny, intelligent, pretty girl, who would give you the world is never at any time available to make any guy feel the same way I made you feel. Every time you pop up out of nowhere I feel for you again, I don’t think I ever stop, more like push everything to the very back of my mind. However, I know every time the conversation stops I am reminded of the bad, and I’m left feeling empty and confused. I don’t want to feel that way anymore. So please, God I’m begging you, please, the next time you think about texting me. Don’t.